


the rain

by obscurityofphylum



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Immortality, Overdose, Umbrella Academy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurityofphylum/pseuds/obscurityofphylum
Summary: klaus would be lying if he said he didn't remember most of it.because he did, and it was buried in the back of his brain, behind the barricade of drugs that he loved to conceal the memories with.
Kudos: 31





	the rain

klaus would be lying if he said he didn't remember most of it.

because he did, and it was buried in the back of his brain, behind the barricade of drugs that he loved to conceal the memories with.

it happened two weeks after ben died. 

klaus, as usual, had slinked into his room after dinner, not even being spared so much as a glance from his siblings. it was almost funny; he was becoming like the shadows that had tormented him since birth.

he observed his and ben's room (now only his) with a glazed-over stare, his dilated pupils flicking past the records and posters that he had collected over the years (mostly from stealing or sneaking out) along with the black suit that lay in a heap in front of his closet, a leftover from ben's o

normally, grace would've gotten and laundered it long before then, ironing the garment with meticulous precision. but klaus hadn't let her in their room since ben died. 

it might be stupid, but it felt sacred to him. like the last shards of ben's life were still in the room, as if he had shattered the day he died and left a trail of broken glass from his room to the academy doors. except, if ben were broken glass, then klaus's feet would be bloodied to all hell. 

he still blamed himself. why hadn't he been able to save him? why hadn't he been there? ben hadn't even shown himself to klaus yet, and there was no point trying to conjure him because klaus had been in a permanent high the past two weeks, just a precaution to keep the ache off his mind. like clockwork, every six hours, he'd dry-swallow a couple morphine tablets and feel the acid in the back of his throat, and then feel nothing. 

klaus and his father had a screaming match the night of ben's funeral. almost as soon as they had gotten back from the services, reginald nearly broke his ass trying to get klaus to conjure him. klaus had refused. it was that simple.

it reminded him of the day he got his tattoos on his hands. he had told one of his closest dealers that he could commune with the dead. the dealer thought he was joking, thought he was just trying to cause a riot. 

when the guy had finally realized klaus wasn't joking, he thought klaus was trying to trick him. so, in the back of an abandoned department store warehouse, a disgruntled band of druggies wielding nothing but a used hypodermic needle and some pen ink had held him down, all scrawny, sixteen year old, hundred-something pounds of him, and etched the words into his palms. some sort of sick joke.

klaus had cried for hours. allison found him scrubbing his hands with near-boiling water later that night, trying anything to get it off his hands. he didn't say anything. the next morning, he played it off as a joke, as a i-was-too-high-i-dont-remember sort of situation that only klaus could pull off with his history.

he couldn't have let them know he was weak, so he used it to his advantage, just like everything else in his life. the ouija board-esque lettered greetings grew on him eventually, and he learned not to complain.

he had bigger things to complain about now. klaus sunk into his bed, feeling weighted down more than anything else. even though it wasn't time yet, it didn't matter. he fished a dime-bag out of the pocket of his uniform he so hated and poured more than a few white tablets into his inked palm. 

with a grimace, klaus put the serving of narcotics on his tongue, feeling the powdery morsels dissolve until there was nothing but an acrid taste left in his mouth and a pleasant warmth deep in his ribs.

it wasn't enough. 

another dime bag from his other pocket, another few dissolving on his tongue.

another dime bag, acquired from a small nook he had slit in his mattress with one of diego's knives. he snorted the contents off the surface of his nightstand, and shamefully licked the residue from the wooden structure.

he knew it was too much. sure, he had tolerance, but that was too much. he could feel it washing over him, like the calm waves that drew far below the shore before a tsunami. 

maybe this is how ben felt before he died. he hoped his brother couldn't see him now. 

as the neon patterns began to swirl in his vision, he sluggishly pelted himself back onto the mattress, not even caring to move when bile rose in the back of his throat and spilled from his mouth onto the white sheets. 

and then it all stopped. no fading, no gentle hue of black to lull him to sleep.

his eyes shot open, and the first thing he felt was rain. not the warm, summer thunderstorms he and ben used to watch from their bedroom window, but angry rain.

the droplets felt cold on his skin, and numbed each place they fell like ice. klaus stood up on shaky legs, trying to grasp around for anything to brace himself against. his hands only met empty air.

there was nothing. nothing underneath him, nothing above him. it was all just black, except for the rain that pelted him mercilessly. his hands were shaking so much that the words on his palms were blurry. 

he shouted, the sound echoing around him like a taunt. it was strange; he could feel things, things that felt like grass, dirt, rocks underneath his fingertips, but all he could see was black. it wasn't dark either, he could see himself perfectly but it was almost like the world was invisible.

he heard yelling, and his head immediately snapped up. a little ways from him, he could see his mother, and allison, bent over a figure. he stumbled to his feet again, breaking into a run towards the trio.

he was merely yards away when he realized what was happening.

the body they were standing over was him. he didn't recognize himself. his face was sheet-white, contrasting against blue lips as he lay still. a frothy mixture of blood, saliva, and vomit dripped from the corner of his mouth. he looked a lot like the ghosts who followed him. he couldn't tell if he was still on his bed, but from the looks of it he probably wasn't. 

klaus ran again, this time a little bit faster. he could hear what allison and grace were saying, but couldn't make out most of the words. it was like he was in a pool, listening to muffled voices at the surface. 

finally, when he was a little bit more than ten feet away from the scene, he crashed into nothing, falling flat on his back. he coughed, the wind knocked out of him. when he sat up, his nose was bloody and trickled down the front of him, leaving a metallic taste on his lips.

he tried again, but met the same invisible wall, this time earning a few more soon-to-be bruises as he fell back. klaus screamed. loud, as loud as he could. 

"i'm right here! please! mom! allison! i'm right here-" he was cut off by a choking gag, that turned into retching, heaving sobs as he felt himself falling again. the rain had stopped, and his crying soon reduced to watery hiccups.

as his vision faded again, klaus finally noticed the little girl who was making circles around the scene with a tattered bicycle.

the second time he woke up, it wasn't a scene nearly as jarring. his eyes squinted at the bright sunlight pouring from the skylights that littered the infirmary ceiling, feeling the way the familiar scratchy cotton sheets felt against his bare skin. 

a blurry figure loomed over him, and didn't seem very pleased that klaus had finally woken up. with a groan of pain, klaus pushed himself up so he was resting on his elbows. his father came slowly into focus, but his voice was all that klaus needed to identify him.

"-any idea what you've done? we've already lost one academy member this month, we can't afford to lose another, even if it happened to be you!" klaus caught the end of the lecture.

even if it happened to be you. even if it happened to be the runt of the litter, the scrawny, practically useless drug addict who was rarely sober enough to hear the mission alarm. klaus almost scoffed, if it weren't for the clay-brick oven feeling in the back of his throat.

he should've died. he knew that. did he? was this just a dream? his thoughts were broken by the sound of reginald pulling a chair next to his bedside, moving an IV pole out of the way and not even noticing klaus's yelp when the IV in his arm jerked painfully.

the older man adjusted his monocle, pulling out a red notebook from his coat pocket and flipping to a clean page, ink pen at the ready like a trusty soldier. finally, he looked up at klaus, his eyes betraying his disgust.

"tell me what you saw when you died."


End file.
